


Six Sacrifices to Someday Save our Souls

by V6ilill



Series: With Saviors Like These, Who Needs Salvation? [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Asshole Narrator, Backstory, Bad Decisions, Character concepts, Dark Comedy, Everyone Has Issues, Gen, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Not mine obvs, One Shot Collection, POV First Person, POV Outsider, POV Second Person, POV Third Person, Self-Esteem Issues, Song Lyrics, Survivor Guilt, Tragedy, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27011926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/V6ilill/pseuds/V6ilill
Summary: A Templar, Nightblade, Warden, Necromancer, Sorcerer and Dragonknight meet at a dolmen in Cyrodiil. This is the story of how they got there, these six less-than-capable, less-than-heroic soulless monstrosities that must someday - somehow - save all of Nirn.In short: six reasons (and one lengthy prologue) as to why the world is screwed, because random undead assholes are not heroes, even if the prophesy says so. Actually, especially if the prophesy says so.
Relationships: Vestige & Original Characters
Series: With Saviors Like These, Who Needs Salvation? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1871929
Kudos: 2





	1. Prologue

“Why?” Laetitia asked her former comrade “Why would you betray us all for these degenerates?”

Ku’rib-andiit stared at her from where he was bound, fur sparking with magic he could no longer use. To think that such a promising wizard would turn his back upon their master, and attempt to free the weaklings due for sacrifice! To think that he would choose some orcish child and failed hero over their lord and master, over their great cause! But the khajiit said nothing and betrayed nothing.

“You can still repent,” Laetitia tried a different approach “the Master hasn’t arrived yet. You shouldn’t share their fate, you can-”

The quiet crackling of a teleportation spell cut off her ramblings as their lord and master arrived on the site of the newly-built dolmen. Laetitia fell onto her knees in time with the crowd. Ku’rib bowed his head and spat a glob of blood onto the ground. Mannimarco paid them no mind, gathering the Ayleid crystal into his hands.

“This will do,” he smiled, exposing a row of well-brushed teeth “This will do indeed. Rise, worms! Your efforts shall be justly rewarded. What of the sacrifices?”

“We have gathered five, my lord” Laetitia proclaimed.

“Six,” a tall man said “One of out own betrayed us.”

“The dolmen will be spectacular indeed,” Mannimarco inclined his head.

Laetitia wanted to jump in front of Ku’rib, plead for his life, make him repent, but a tingling in her stomach stopped her. She could not offer anything of value for the life of a traitor. She could not. There was nothing she could do.

Mannimarco approached the prisoners. Ku’rib met his gaze, unflinching. The leader raised his hand and slammed an ice spike into the captive’s face, smirking. The man hissed, shaking fresh blood out of his fur. Laetitia suppressed a wince. She could not look away. Fear was weakness. And she, a scion of the Worm, had none.

Was supposed to have none . . .

Mannimarco stepped over Ku’rib in order to get a better view of the others. The nord warrior they’d calmed with an arrow through the eye noticed their new master. Their mouth widened in a soundless gasp, then they launched themself through the air with a wild, guttural scream. Mannimarco set the fool aflame, rolling his eyes with a smile. The nord persisted, straining his chains, snarling and howling like a caged wolf.

“Fire suits you, don’t you think?” Mannimarco watched the captive writhe “Goes well with your hair.” He waved a hand to extinguish the flame, but the prisoner kept yanking the bonds despite being too weak to even stand.

The others were huddled together, a dunmer thief, a foolishly chivalrous altmer, a young orc and the monster. It laid on its back, face blistering from fresh burns. The hushed rumors speaking of its malice were all true, Laetitia knew that - had always known that. When was deathly pallor and sensitivity to the sun the mark of anything but a bloodsucking beast?

“My, my,” Mannimarco overturned its broken helmet with his foot “Caught a Tharn by the tail, did you, my servants? I always wanted to see their freak.”

He yanked the horrid creature up by the neck and held it in the air like a trophy or wet dishrag. It whined quietly, head lolling to the right. Drool trickled out of its open mouth, frozen in a rictus grin.

“As white as snow, aren’t you, princess?” he shook it. The vermin’s limbs twitched, but it made no effort to resist. “And as helpless as a doll. What sent you so far from mommy dearest?”

“She attempted to take our artifact,” a breton spoke “She was no match for me.”

“My lord, my lord . . . will there not be retribution?” Laetitia’s colleague asked.

“For this thing?” Mannimarco looked it in the eye and it flinched back “You have nothing to fear, my minions.”

The rest of the sacrifices did not catch their lord’s attention in the slightest. He ordered them to be brought to the altar and took up his knife. Ku’rib was the first choice. Laetitia could not save him. It was his choice that had brought him to ruin (what did he see in that girl? Why did her care what happened to the vainglorious altmer, that pretender in jeweled armor and a dull sword who couldn’t even fight?! Why did he care for some weaklings? What reason could there possibly be-). It was his choice.

And it was hers to do nothing.

Laetitia did not look away when Ku’rib's soul was fed to the dolmen. Sometimes she wished she had.


	2. Templar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One track mind, one track heart  
> If I fail, I'll fall apart  
> Maybe it is all a test  
> 'Cause I feel like I'm the worst, so I always act like I'm the best  
> \- "Oh no!" Marina and the Diamonds

You are nothing.  
You are capable of nothing.  
You are unworthy.  
You are unworthy of consideration.

You must not steal.  
You must not lie.  
You must not kill innocents.  
You must not dishonor our family.  
You must not dishonor us.

You protect our people.  
You smite our enemies.  
You know your place.

You must become a warrior.  
You must become a sorcerer.  
You must become a leader.  
You must become a hero.  
You must become greater than yourself.  
Then you may return, a proud child of mine.

Until then, you are nothing.


	3. Nightblade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've got to watch them  
> Be quick  
> Or be dead  
> Snake eyes in heaven  
> The thief's  
> In your head  
> \- "Be quick or be Dead" Iron Maiden

SO I LIEVED IN CHEDDYNHAL M’ENTIRE LIVE. NOTHING SPESHAL. I STOULE WELL. MFRIEND SAW ME GITHT FOR STEALFTH AND TOLD ME ONEDAY TO PLEDG MESELF TO THE LADY NOCCTURNAL. AND I GOT COOL SHADOW POWRS SO GOOD DEAL. SHE DOESENT EVEN ASK MUCH. ITS NOT LIKE I NEED MY SOULD FOR ANYTHING. SO I THOUGHT MAYBE ICOULD TAKE FROM THEM CULTIESTS. THEY HAVE ALL THE BEST STUFF.

ANYWAY, I CLOAKED MESELF IN SHADOW AND GO IN. THEY HAD A SHINY AIRTEFACT. I TOUK AIRTEFACT. TWAS DEESTRACTIENGLY SHINY. TCAUGHT THE MOONNLIGHT. BASTARD AIRTEFACT. SO MUCH FOR COOL SHADOW POWRS.

THE CULTIESTS SEW THE GEM GLINT AND WANTED TO KIL ME. I THOUGHT ID GETTA FIGHT BUT NO. I GOT THROWN INTO A CAEG. NICE STRONG CAEG WITCH STRONG LOKC THAT I CANT PICK.

TWAS A LITTLE CONCERTING. A LITTLE. I POKED LOKC WITH FOOT BUT CULTIESTS SETT ME ON FYRE. BASTARDS. I THOLD THEM I SCREWWED THERE MOMS. I GOT A LITTLE MORE FYERY. BUT FOR ONE OF THEM IT WAS TRU! HE WAS ASHOLE FROM CHEDDYNHAL LIKE ME BUT HE DID NOT LIKE HIS FRENDS TO KNOW THAT.

THEN I DIEAD.

FUNNY HOW THAT TURNED OUT, YE ASSHOLES?


	4. Warden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Cause they took your loved ones  
> But returned them in exchange for you  
> But would you have it any other way?  
> Would you have it any other way?  
> You could have it any other way  
> \- "What the Water gave me" Florence + the Machine

Gruzha stood near the water, crouched down in the thick reeds. Birdsong filled the air and the orc smiled to herself. She spotted something within the foliage and nocked an arrow. She drew her bow and- the bird fluttered away in a flurry of movement. Gruzha shook her head, crawling to find other prey.

It was all for naught. She found nothing.

Gruzha sighed. She shook her head and headed home.

She never arrived.

There were dark figures in the woods, marching in tandem. Soldiers? Gruzha squinted. Cultists. They had chained a man and were leading him in front of them.

Gruzha’s heart skipped a beat. It was Fabius the baker.

She crept closer. There were five cultists - five to restrain one man. There was nothing she could do against them. But she had to. What kind of monster just walked away?

“Hey! Bastards! Let him go!” Gruzha popped out of the bushes. Maybe if she looked brave and strong enough, she could scare them off.

“Or what? You’ll cry?” a cultist asked, twirling her knife.

“He hasn’t done anything wrong!” Gruzha lifted her chin.

“We need a sacrifice,” a man droned.

“I-” the orc began. What could she offer them? What could she do to save an innocent man? “Take me instead!”

Heroes never lost. She’d find a way to get out. Break her bonds with a magic icicle? Call upon a friendly bear? She had plenty of time.

“Hah! Alright then,” the woman agreed. She bound Gruzha with chains of dark magic that seared and bit right into the orc’s flesh. But she could endure that!

“Release him, now,” Gruzha commanded, struggling to keep her voice level. The manacles burned her arms harder. Any moment now, and her skin would start peeling . . .

“Oh, he won’t be sacrificed,” the dark witch laughed “But I’m in need of a new servant and that whelp will do for now.”

The cultists laughed.

“No! Don’t do that!” Gruzha wailed, but the bite of the shackles held her in place like a statue.

Fabius screamed as his soul was shorn from his body and his flesh rose to serve its new mistress. Gruzha was herded away by the cultists. They paid no mind to her struggle for freedom, only tightening the bonds when she tried kicking one. What kind of person was she if she couldn’t save a friend because of her own weakness? Why couldn’t she just be a hero?

But she had to get out, had to flee- her mother and father still needed her-

In the end, there was no escape from the Worm Cult. The steel was cold and sharp and slit much more than her throat, and under that blade she was just meat: not a hero, not a hunter, not a girl. Just another dumb animal to butcher, like the ducks she used to hunt . . .


	5. Necromancer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And all the people say:  
> You can't wake up, this is not a dream  
> You're part of a machine, you are not a human being  
> With your face all made up, living on a screen  
> Low on self esteem, so you run on gasoline  
> \- "Gasoline" Halsey

[--]

**Aureliana Tharn, 2e 266 - 2e 582**

Aureliana, Princess of Rimmen, was born the second child of Euraxia and Aurelian Tharn, more than sixteen years after their first child, Javad. Aurelian died of a sudden illness before his daughter was born (spawning many claims of his assassination), thus she was named after him. After her mother’s conquest of Northern Elsweyr, Aureliana became second in line to the throne, after her brother. When she reached the age of majority, she was given command of an armed unit and sent on an errand somewhere in Southern Cyrodiil. Although the Princess never returned, and several sources have claimed to witness her death, she has yet to be declared dead.

Although her life has been entirely unremarkable, Aureliana is worth mentioning for the rumors alone. A former nursemaid of hers, a woman I met in Anvil, described the child Princess as a monstrous creature in the shape of a small child, deceptively quiet and innocent. Said nursemaid was forced to flee for her life when, after taking a miniscule break from catering to every whim of Aureliana’s, she gossipped with a cook, expressing disappointment that the child was so difficult to placate. At that point, Aureliana appeared out of thin air, having overheard everything. She burst into an exagerrated fit, sobbing crocodile tears and promising bloody retribution.

The nursemaid told, as have many others, that Aureliana seemed downright inhuman, having a deathly pale complexion, white hair and maturing much faster than a normal child, possessing the intelligence of an adult from an early age, while being prone to fits of inconsolable rage.

Many have questioned Aureliana’s paternity, especially since she has nothing in common with her father and only passingly resembles her mother. Rumors range from the scandalous implications of adultery to the vastly more fantastical - claims range from Euraxia begetting her daughter off a corpse to coupling with a vampire.

There is good reason to suspect Aureliana of being a vampire, namely that she has only ever been seen in public on a scant few official occasions, and then always with her eyes closed and a parasol shielding her from the sun. It should also be noted that the Princess was born near Valenwood where the Telboth, a clan of vampires that prey upon children, taking their place in the family, reside. Rumors also abound to Aureliana’s horrific proclivities - namely, that she is a necromancer, worships Molag Bal, performs human sacrifice and partakes in debaucherous orgies while the people of Rimmen starve. The khajiit now rest easier, knowing that such a blight upon their lands is gone

  * Alix Dupont, _On our enemy: Nobility of Cyrodiil_ Wayrest Press, 2e 582



Report 27b

Elia, known colloquially as Edgelord Ellie, an adventurer traveling with Gruzha gra-Dorn (see report 27a) on a permanent basis. Openly expresses disdain and scorn for Gruzha. Reason for accompanying Gruzha unknown. Appears as an older woman wearing a black hooded cloak, with extensive scarring of the lower face, neck and chest. True age unknown. Avoids direct sunlight, routinely withdraws into the wilderness alone at night. Possible necromancer. Possible vampire. True scope of abilities unknown. Engage with caution, preferably during noon or sunhigh. If anticipating hostility, pack a stake. Better yet, bring fire.

Always a vector of good ideas,

[REDACTED].

[REDACTED] of [REDACTED], [REDACTED]

_The people hate you. They think things would be better if you were never born._ _They're not wrong._

_\- M. E._


	6. Sorcerer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get back, put your hands up, kinda messed up, but it's tough luck  
> And I'm sorry, but I don't feel bad for you  
> 'Cause I know if you could switch this  
> You'd be dishing out the same shit  
> Saying "sorry, but I don't feel bad"  
> \- "Killer in the Mirror" Set It Off

“Show yourself, sorcerer!”

“Very well.”

“Argh- you little- oh gods!”

“This one most certainly isn’t little, yes?”

“Oh gods, please, I’m not ready to die! Please, my family- they need me!”

“This one had a family too once, pawn of the Tharns - brothers and sisters, a mother and father, and they lived happily on their moonsugar plantation.”

“I-”

“And then they were all killed. Those Euraxians just like you were a little bored that day and it did not matter to them that Ku’rib’s brother was just a cub, or that his family would not raise a claw against their conquerors. So tell me, imperial: why should this one care for yours?”

“I-I’m just doing what I must. Following orders. I wasn’t even there!”

“Yet you serve the Usurper Queen and her boy. Don’t you know what monsters they are? Don’t you know they deal with Molag Bal?”

“As if you’re any better, summoner.”

“This one set upon his path of darkness only after his family were slain before his eyes. Do your fellows have any reasons beyond power?”

“Well, see-”

“No need for excuses. Once, Ku’rib might have taken your soul right out. But this one has more pressing concerns than bloody vengeance. This one will let you live.”

“What’s the catch?”

“You will become the bearer of bad news. When you get back to your fellows, tell them that the khajiit have risen. Soon Elsweyr will be free and you all dead.”

“I will- what-?”

“Nothing, just a trick Ku’rib learned from his time in the Worm Cult.”

“MY HAND! OH GODS, IT’S FALLING OFF! You hypocrite!”

“Run off now, little soldier. This one has many more tricks he can show if you choose to stay.

Your fellows can tell you all about them soon.”


	7. Dragonknight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Race for the morning  
> You can hide in the sun till you see the light  
> Oh we will pray it's all right  
> \- "Holy Diver" Dio

It was a dark and stormy night when Arin was born, to nord farmers, proud scions of their land. As the child grew, their shoulders broadened and their strength increased. They cared not for farming or fishing like the simple folk they lived with, no, their passion was battle. To swing a battleaxe, sling a shield, draw a bow - that was their calling.

So it came to be that Arin sat in the tavern, drinking and boasting for all to hear that they would slay a great troll that had been pestering the farmers, killing the livestock and ruining the crops. The youth promised they would bring the troll’s skull so that it could be displayed in that very tavern. The women laughed and the men rolled their eyes, but Arin was certain, and wagered their honor on the kill.

In the evening gloom, Arin took up their ax and donned their father’s old rusty helmet. They stalked the monster in the dark through the lanes and hills, finally finding the troll in its cozy cave. The creature roared and charged, its three eyes bulging with hatred, flinging rocks and dirt at Arin.

They ran. They ran shamefully, like a craven, from the field of battle. Along the path, they lost their helmet and their ax, though the troll pursued them yet. They ran, stumbling over specks of dirt in the road, entirely uncaring where the road took them as long as the troll remained behind.

In their blind flight, Arin saw an old man traversing the path, and they shouted at the man to turn around. Instead, the elder squared his shoulders, set his jaw and breathed bright flame upon the troll, engulfing the beast in fire, whereupon the old man fell upon the animal with a hidden dagger, slitting its belly. Arin watched, slack-jawed, and wept bitter tears at their own failure.

Convinced of their great shame, Arin begged on bended knee for the old man to teach them his art, though a part of the young nord told them that magic was dishonorable. So it came to be that Arin of Solitude, boastful, proud youth that they was, became a humble acolyte of the Order of the Flame. They honored Akatosh, the Great Dragon, and the laws of the land handed down from the gods. And once Arin had supplicated before a greater power, and trained in the art of the ax, the shield, and discipline, they was given the gift of the Flame, and they became a Dragonknight.

Not all was well in those times, though, and the Order of the Flame would soon fall, consumed by the same fire which they professed mastery over. For Emperor Varen sought to become dragonborn, and his advisor, Mannimarco, was eager to aid him - though not without an ulterior motive.

So it happened that Mannimarco desired the ancient knowledge the Dragonknights had buried deep within their monastery, and he wished the Order gone, so that they may never again threaten his power. And by his will, it was done - the ancient monastery burned, and the knights died for an imaginary treachery.

And Arin, though trained and taught, still had a black, craven heart. They escaped with Nerilla, another trainee of the Order, carrying eons-old secrets on their backs. But alas, they were warriors, not thieves, and their footfalls were loud in the night. The dead rose to greet them, to take their scrolls and manuscripts.

Like once so long ago, Arin fled, Nerilla’s screams dogging their every step.

There was no rest for the traitor, the coward, who had been given everything and yet gave nothing in return, who did not even had the dignity to die with their brothers and sisters. Only death could ease Arin’s pain.

But death was only the beginning.


End file.
